


The Generals

by anextrapart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7061848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anextrapart/pseuds/anextrapart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This will all go much faster if you just tell me what’s going on.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Generals

The moment Marcus enters their quarters, Abby is concerned by the way he’s slightly hunched over, arms tucked up against his abdomen.

“Are you alright?”

“Abby!” His head darts up, eyes wide as he notices her curled on the couch. “You're… here.”

Smiling, she marks her page in the book she was reading and puts it aside. 

“Yes I live here, if you recall.”

“Right. Of course. I know that.” He shuffles from foot to foot awkwardly, continues with speech as near to babbling as she’s ever heard him, “I just thought you might be somewhere, um, not here. At this particular time.”

“Well, here I am.” She narrows her eyes curiously at his fidgeting. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Why would there be anything wrong with me?”

She gestures to his hair and clothes, which are decidedly waterlogged, and at the puddle forming beneath his boots. “You’re dripping all over the floor, for one.”

“It’s raining out.”

“Uh huh. Something wrong with your arms?”

“No.”

“Your stomach?”

“No.”

“This will all go much faster if you just tell me what’s going on.”

He sighs heavily, squirms a little more. 

“You’re going to laugh.”

“Undoubtedly.”

It is then that a strange, high-pitched sound emits from the depths of Marcus’ jacket.

Abby stares at it in alarm, realizing that what his arms are actually curled around is not his own body, as she initially thought, but around something tucked _inside_ the jacket.

In her most stern mom-voice, she asks, “What did you do?”

Marcus actually takes a half-step back from her before collecting himself and properly entering the room, carefully unzipping his jacket with one hand while the other remains supporting whatever’s inside.

She doesn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for a fluffy head with a tiny beak to pop up and stare at her over Marcus’ hands.

“Is that a _bird_?”

“It’s a duck,” he says, with a note of pride in his voice that she just knows is going to be trouble. “Well, technically I suppose it’s a duckling.”

Feeling the need to get the obvious question out of the way first, she asks, “And why is there a duckling in your jacket?”

He launches into an explanation that she’s quite certain he rehearsed no less than three times on the way home. Probably out loud. To the duck.

“I was finishing my perimeter patrol over by the pond outside the fence when I heard a noise over the rain–it sounded like something was hurt, or in distress. When I went over to check it out I found a nest, completely empty except for one cracked egg. This little guy was still stuck mostly inside, so I thought I should help him out.”

“Naturally.”

“I only helped a little, he really did do most of the work on his own, but then he was all alone in the nest, just staring at me.” He shrugs helplessly at her. “There weren’t any other ducks around and I couldn’t just _leave_ him there.”

If she’s being honest here, the concept of _Marcus Kane, Baby Duck Rescuer_ isn’t particularly far-fetched.

Of course he brought the duck home. _Of course_ he did.

“That doesn’t quite answer my question.”

“Which question?”

“Why is the duck in your jacket?”

“It’s raining,” he says, like it’s obvious.

She arches a brow to inform him that _actually, no, not obvious,_ and she swears he actually cuddles the duck closer to him when he says, “I just didn’t want him to get wet from the rain and be cold.”

And really, at this point, is there anything else she can be expected to do but dissolve into hysterical laughter?

She’s not laughing _at_ him, not really, but it’s just- it’s so _Marcus_ of him, to be standing there soaking wet and bedraggled while trying to protect the little animal in his care.

“Marcus, it’s a _duck_ ,” she manages to get out around bouts of laughter. “They live in water.”

“I _know_ that, but he’s only a baby.” He glances down at the duck in uncertainty. “Are they even waterproof as babies?”

“Are you sure you’re the same guy who used to kick my ass in Earth Skills lessons?”

“Oh that’s right, how could I have forgotten the lesson held exclusively on the properties of newly-hatched waterfowl? I must have been out sick that day.”

Abby grins–she likes snarky Marcus.

She also enjoys tormenting him.

“So then you’ll definitely have forgotten what we learned about filial imprinting?”

He looks for a moment as though he’d like to argue, but then he rolls his eyes with a sigh. 

“Yes. And judging by the look on your face,” he says, “I expect I’m going to regret having done so.”

Oh, this is going to be fun.

“Put him on the floor,” she says.

Marcus carefully lowers the duckling to the floor, an excessive gentleness to the act which leaves Abby both wanting to smack him upside the head and also kiss him.

“Alright, now come over here.”

With a hesitant glance at the duckling, Marcus moves in the direction of the couch. He makes it only a step or two before the duckling is up and waddling after him.

He makes it over to Abby and they watch as the duckling hurries over to sit beside his boot.

“I guess he likes me,” Marcus says with a proud little smile.

Abby forces herself not to laugh.

“Go over to the desk,” she says. When Marcus looks at her curiously, she shrugs. “Humor me.”

He does as she asked, striding over to their shared desk at the other end of the room.

The duckling follows him hurriedly.

Marcus glances down in surprise. “What-?”

“Now come back over here,” Abby says.

He does, faster this time, and he drops to sit beside her on the couch once he’s crossed the room. They both watch as the duckling scrambles to catch up.

Abby lays a hand on his knee, making no effort anymore to hide her amusement.

“Congratulations. You’re his mama.”

The duckling clambers up onto the toe of Marcus’ boot and cheeps indignantly at him until Marcus scoops him up, slouching down on the couch so he can deposit the duckling to sit on his abdomen.

“There’s no way that people in camp are going to accept this gracefully, is there?”

Abby shakes her head. “God help you when Raven finds out. And Murphy.”

Groaning, he lets his head flop back against the couch.

Abby smiles and brushes a single fingertip gently over the duckling’s head.

“At least he’s cute.”

Marcus drops his head to the side, resting it on her shoulder as he joins her in petting the duckling.

“Yes, he’ll certainly strike fear into the hearts of our enemies.”

The duckling takes Marcus’ finger in his beak, nibbling at him.

“Should you be letting him do that?” Abby asks.

“I think maybe he’s hungry,” he says, teasing the duckling with his fingers for a moment before he freezes, asks slowly, “Abby, what do ducks eat?”

“How would I know?”

“Well _I_ don’t know–I missed the top-secret, all-about-birds Earth Skills lesson, remember?”

“I’m sure we’ll find some information if we check the old Earth records on the datapad.”

“I don’t even know what to feed him.” Marcus sighs dramatically, stares up at her with exaggerated horror. “I’m a terrible mother.”

Laughing, Abby presses her face into his hair. 

“It gets easier,” she assures him.

The duckling chooses that moment to nip harder at his finger, and Marcus yelps in surprise.

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” he mutters, taking his hand out of reach.

She watches them stare each other down for a moment before Marcus cautiously inches his hand closer again.

The little beak stays closed, and Marcus sighs happily.

“I guess he’ll need a name,” he says.

Abby smiles. “Pick a good one.”

 

 

-

 

 

_“Antonius?”_

Marcus glances up at her in concern from his spot on the floor. “You don’t like it?”

“I don’t dislike it, it’s just a lot of name for such a tiny ball of fluff.”

“He’ll get bigger though,” he reminds her. “And it has the same roots as my name, I thought that would be interesting.”

Watching him sitting cross-legged on their floor, teasing the duckling with a piece of string, Abby’s tempted to label it as more _adorable_ than necessarily _interesting_ , but she’ll let him have this one.

“Just know there will be hell to pay when the kids find out.”

Marcus scowls. “They’ve been calling him _Quackers_ since he got here.”

She bites her lip to hide a smile. “The nerve.”

“Just because he’s a duck doesn’t mean his name can’t be dignified. It’s always something with them anyway,” he grumbles, though not without fondness. “They’re going to be brats no matter which name I choose.”

 

 

-

 

 

As expected, the naming of the duckling creates just as much uproar as his arrival did several days prior.

The most unforgiving is Raven, who dubs them The Generals and salutes gleefully whenever she sees them together.

Marcus is less than amused.

(Abby finds it hilarious.)

 

 

-

 

 

fin.


End file.
